As much as I hate it, loss is inevitable.
I am reminded of this now, even as I recline on the couch, with Theo sleeping peacefully against my chest and Willow curled up on my legs. This moment of serenity will end soon enough, an odd noise will rouse the cats or my full bladder will require me to extract myself from under the cats. This moment will not last.
My challenge in this very moment is to focus on the joy of this instant, to fully take it in. That is way easier said than done! My doom-and-gloom nature works to diminish the current moment with the knowledge that this moment will end. In an attempt to mitigate the impending loss of this delightful moment, I don't allow myself to fully live into the experience.
An example of this is Sundays. I usually enjoy my weekends, but Sundays are difficult, being the last day of the weekend. I can't help but think about how Monday follows Sunday which casts a cloud of dread over the day. Similarly, June 22nd is the most depressing day of the year, because from then out the daylight starts dwindling.
His presence is a delight to my heart. I am affirmed and comforted by his desire to be close to me. His trust is evident in his relaxed and vulnerable position. This is all good.
Part of me wishes time would just stop in these moments, so I could soak it up forever but that is not the way of life. May 9, 2009, Max's last day; In the morning I knew his death would come before the sun would set. Knowing this was my last day with Max was agonizing. There was nothing more I wanted than to stop time and to spend forever snuggling with my beautiful Max. It always ends, there is always loss.
I refuse to end it with loss, there needs to be something more. In the cycle of life, so evident in nature, loss gives way to life. Old growth burns to yield new forest, grown in time. Maybe loss is not the end of the cycle but the beginning. Loss has the power to bring new life. Does that imply then that staying present in the moment, which includes the loss of the moment, can yield something even greater? It's nice to think of grief as a landmark along the journey to something greater rather than the final destination.